At the middle of the road in the Capital, as the carriage creaked to a gentle stop, Lyle and I decided to leave the carriage and take a stroll. We were on our way to visit Abelard—a choice driven by my burning need for immediate answers about the questions weighing on my heart.
The timing was perfect, for the carriage had just reached a quiet brook where the vehicle had come to rest. In that moment of stillness, with the city's distant hum echoing off worn cobblestones, I knew it was time to act.
Winding my way through a narrow, softly lit alley paved with ancient stones, we arrived at a building that served as both a bookshop and cafe. The atmosphere inside was warm and inviting—the aroma of freshly brewed tea mingled with the dusty, comforting scent of old paper and leather-bound volumes.
As soon as we stepped through the door, a servant approached us without hesitation. "Can I have the Book of a Crow's Tears? And a tea," I said in a clear, measured tone.
The servant's eyes brightened as he immediately understood; he inclined his head and said, "Please, this way," before leading us through the winding corridors of the shop.
He led us down a narrow passage inside the library, past rows of old books and softly glowing lanterns, until we reached a small room tucked behind a larger one—where Abelard's office was situated.
Before we entered, he knocked lightly and then opened the door. There, slumped in a comfortable, overstuffed chair and seemingly deep in sleep, sat Abelard. His presence was unassuming yet hinted at secrets hidden between the creases of his lined face.
Clearing my throat gently—the sound echoing slightly in the quiet room—I announced, "Ahem… Good day." Abelard stirred, blinking slowly before his drowsy eyes brightened as he recognized me.
"Good to see you again, My Lady," he murmured warmly, rising slightly and bowing in greeting. Notably, he did not move to kiss my hand; I recalled with a quiet smile that the first time he had tried, Lyle had promptly intervened.
I could not help teasing him a little. "Well, are you not going to let me sit?" I asked sarcastically.
Without a word, Abelard offered me the chair he had been occupying, gesturing for me to settle into it. I sat down, crossing my legs as I looked at him. For the moment, Lyle had stepped outside—on my precise instruction—leaving only the soft ticking of a nearby clock and the subtle rustle of papers on Abelard's desk.
After I let out a quiet sigh, Abelard's eyes twinkled as he leaned forward conspiratorially. "There is something I want to know… Gioffre Borgia," I began, his gaze lighting up with a mischievous, sneaky smirk that I had rarely seen. "There is a very forbidden topic that even the Emperor has ordered to be left unspoken. I did not expect, My Lady, that you would be bold enough to break that silence."
My heart skipped a beat at the mention of that forbidden topic, and questions swirled in my mind. That Emperor? A forbidden topic about Gioffre Borgia? Who is he, really? I pressed my lips together in curiosity.
Abelard did not immediately answer; he quietly rose and walked over to one of the old wooden drawers behind his desk. After a few measured moments, he returned holding an envelope along with several blank sheets of paper.
"Here, there is everything you need," he said as he gently placed the envelope into my hand. I took it carefully, then used a pen on the blank papers spread out on the desk, my handwriting shaky with anticipation.
He had given me some crucial information—but as with all things in our world, exchange was mutual. "A location?" he asked, frowning slightly as he studied my scribbled notes. "Yes, I want you to acquire that land and register it under your name," I explained firmly.
Abelard's eyes narrowed, and he offered a hesitant reply, "But, My Lady, this place has never been lived in by anyone… its soil is the driest and most barren you could imagine." A hint of doubt crept into his normally calm voice, and I could not help but smile at his pragmatism.
"That barren land will yield a gemstone of extraordinary beauty—one that will rival even our precious tanzanite," I said confidently, recalling how, in the book, Laura, whose divine power was immense, managed to bring life to that very place and later discovered a breathtaking gemstone she named Painite.
I wanted that place strongly, convinced that I could make it flourish once more. I still held my divine powers, and with regular visits to the temple, I would only grow stronger. "Trust me," I murmured, "what I desire will come true once I claim that land. And of course, we will share it equally—fifty-fifty, deal?" Abelard did not protest. His eyes held a knowing gleam as he simply nodded in agreement, as if he believed in the certainty of what I always said.
After our brief exchange, Abelard left the room, and I carefully opened the envelope to study the detailed dossier about Gioffre Borgia. I read through the pages, my eyes widening with each new revelation. No way—could it be true? According to the report, Gioffre was the illegitimate son of Duke Borgia, who was also an Archbishop. It also stated that the Duke's first-born, Cesare, was a mad tyrant—a man who committed countless murders while pretending to be the rightful next Archbishop. Even more shocking, the report mentioned that the Duke's daughter, married at the tender age of thirteen to a noble of the Liechtenstein Kingdom—near our Empire—had died under mysterious circumstances.
It further revealed that despite enduring repeated abuse from his family, Gioffre had managed to become the Borgia successor owing to a tragic event that had taken place ten years ago. No one knew exactly what had happened that fateful night, but the only official report claimed that the entire Borgia family was slain brutally—so much so that even the servants and animals did not escape—and the only survivor was a horribly injured Gioffre, found in a well.
The Emperor had therefore implemented a royal order forbidding any talk or inquiry into those events. The sheer scale of that tragedy and the subsequent silence of the court unnerved me deeply.
Could such an event truly exist, when nothing like it had ever been brought up in the novel? Was something shifting because of my own actions—had I done something that could alter the very storyline we were all a part of?
In truth, it did not concern me whether the course of events changed or not; what mattered was that this obscure information and the people connected to it filled my mind with possibilities. There was someone else—a person I needed to keep strictly at arm's length. Even if he had helped me, I would not tolerate any potential threat to my ambitions.
Rising from the chair, I left Abelard's office. Lyle, who had been sitting outside, drinking his tea in quiet contemplation, immediately stood up as he saw me walking back toward the main entrance. "Is the carriage finally ready?" I asked softly, my voice carrying a blend of impatience and anticipation.
"Yes, they are waiting for us," he replied calmly, and together, we walked out onto the broad, bustling street.
As we ambled along the busy thoroughfare, I could feel Lyle's gaze on me—steady, fixated. I turned slightly and, with a teasing note to mask my inner turmoil, I asked in an annoyed tone, "What is it?"
After a brief pause, he said simply, "Did you find what you were looking for?" His question, though quiet, resonated deeply within me, stirring thoughts of all that had occurred in just this half-day.
I sighed. "Damn, I am exhausted. There is so much to think about after all that has happened." My mind raced with questions: What else awaits me? Will there be more surprising information? The day had been a tumult of revelations, and I could not shake the feeling that the threads of fate were weaving a narrative I had yet to fully comprehend.
As we walked along the bustling streets of the Capital, the air was alive with the hum of voices and the rhythmic clatter of carriage wheels against cobblestones. The faint scent of baked goods mingled with the sharper tang of metal from nearby smithies, creating a tapestry of sensations that felt both familiar and grounding. I was lost in thought, my mind still swirling with the revelations from earlier, when suddenly, I stumbled.
A man brushed his shoulder against mine, his movement abrupt yet unintentional. "I am sorry, My Lady," he said quickly, his voice carrying an unfamiliar accent that immediately caught my attention.
I turned to look at him, curiosity piqued. He was dressed in a pristine white coat that seemed to shimmer faintly in the sunlight, his dark skin contrasting beautifully against the deep purple hue of his hair. But it was his eyes that held me captive—eyes of a captivating, almost hypnotic purple that seemed to pull me into their depths.
As our gazes locked, something strange began to unfold. It was as though my past life as Adeline was flashing before me, reflected in the endless pools of his eyes. Memories I had buried, moments I thought lost, all seemed to surface in vivid clarity. I could not understand why I was seeing this—why this stranger's gaze seemed to unravel the threads of my existence.
"You… Who are you?" he asked, his tone laced with confusion and doubt. His accent was stiff, the kind that betrayed a lack of familiarity with the language he was speaking.
I raised an eyebrow, my voice steady and proud as I replied, "I am Madeleine Ceres, from the House of Luxemburg."
But his response made my heart skip a beat. "No, I am asking who you really are," he said firmly, his gaze sharpening into something almost judgmental.
My jaw dropped, and my eyes widened in shock. Could someone finally see through me? Could this man tell that I was not truly Madeleine? Why now, after all this time? Why here, in the middle of the streets, surrounded by people who had never questioned my identity? Who was this man?
Before I could process his words, a sudden gust of wind brushed against my cheeks, and the world around me shifted. The vibrant colors of the Capital faded into stark black and white, and the bustling crowd froze in place, transformed into statues. Even Lyle, who had been walking beside me, stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the stranger as though caught in a moment of suspended time.
"What is happening?" I demanded, my voice rising in panic as I turned to the man. "You… What did you do?"
"I am right," he said calmly, his tone carrying an unsettling certainty. "You are not an ordinary person. Seeing how you did not get affected by my powers confirms it."
Powers? My mind raced. What kind of abilities did he possess to create this eerie stillness, this frozen tableau? It was as though time itself had stopped.
"Who are you really?" he pressed, his accent now gone, replaced by a voice that was smooth and commanding. "This body is like an empty shell right now. So who are you, and why are you here?"
His words sent a chill down my spine. I struggled to respond, my thoughts tangled in fear and uncertainty. "What do you mean by that? How can a person become empty?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my attempt to sound composed.
It was not that I did not understand his question—it was that I was afraid to answer it. If he discovered that I was from another world, I might face consequences far worse than I could imagine.
"That body of yours has two souls," he said, his gaze piercing. "One soul is pure, bright blue, and the other is deep black."
Two souls? My breath caught as his words sank in. Could it be true? Did the real Madeleine never fully leave this body? Was that why I had been experiencing her nightmares—her memories? Was that why I felt such inexplicable emotions toward the people in her life?
She had not completely gone.
"I saw how hideous a person you really are," he continued, his tone cold and unyielding. "I will not let you do what you have done in your world. Whoever you are, I will not let you have your way here."
As he spoke, a blue light began to emanate from him, his deep purple eyes shifting into a brilliant ocean blue. The intensity of his presence grew, and I felt the weight of his mana pressing against me like an invisible force.
He raised his index finger, and a beam of blue light shot toward me. Instinctively, I closed my eyes, bracing for impact. But strangely, nothing hit me. When I opened my eyes, I found myself surrounded by a glowing circle—a barrier that seemed to have formed on its own.
"What is happening?" I muttered, my voice barely audible as I stared at the circle. "Why am I inside this stupid thing? Did it save me from being hit?"
"You!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with surprise. "Your body has enough mana to protect itself. Do you have divinity?"
I closed my eyes, searching my memories for an answer. Yes—Madeleine was a princess, and her royal blood granted her strong divinity. That much I remembered.
"Why do you not go back to where you came from?" he demanded, his voice rising in anger. "Why are you here? Are you planning to do something in this peaceful country?"
His accusations grated on my nerves. I had found him attractive at first, but now, after his attack and his relentless questioning, he was nothing more than an annoyance. I wanted to strangle him, to silence his accusations, but I knew better. The sheer amount of mana and divinity he possessed made him untouchable.
"If I could go back, do you not think I would have done it already?" I snapped, rolling my eyes. "Do you think it is that easy?"
"I do not have time to argue with someone who keeps blabbering nonsense," I continued, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yes, I am not the owner of this body, and I am not from this world. Whatever you saw in me, I do not care. Whether I did the things you think I did or not, it is none of your business."
I needed to survive in this world, no matter what. I could not afford to lose my head—not now, not ever.
"Tell me who you are," I demanded, my voice firm.
He snapped his fingers, and the world around us returned to its original state. The colors of the Capital flooded back, and the frozen crowd resumed their movements as though nothing had happened.
"I am Samael, Your Highness," he said, bowing slightly as he placed his hand over his chest.
My face twisted in irritation at his words. Your Highness? How infuriating.
Samael. I will not forget that name.
Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked away. I would not ask for his help. He was nothing but a nuisance.
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